


Can't Miss Him

by imtelevisionsmoirarose



Series: Coming Together [4]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Fingering, And corndogs, Blow Jobs, Come play, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, David Rose is a Good Person, Emerging Bedroom Dynamics, Episode: s04e06 Open Mic, Introspection, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Morning Sex, POV Patrick Brewer, Past Patrick/Rachel, Patrick Brewer is Thirsty, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s04e06 Open Mic, Rimming, first time rimming, seriously a lot of introspection, talks of charred meat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29813049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imtelevisionsmoirarose/pseuds/imtelevisionsmoirarose
Summary: Patrick contemplates on his performance at Open Mic Night and David returns the favor. Just another Open Mic fic.______Their noses are almost touching when they break apart and David looks a little wary but also extremely wanton. Patrick can’t get enough of David when he’s flushed and breathing heavy like this. He tweaks a nipple, rubbing over it with the pad of his thumb.“So there’s something that I’d really like to do for you.” David starts. “To properly thank you.” His face is hopeful but guarded as he puts a hand on the side of Patrick’s face gently. “But I need you to be one hundred percent on board.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Coming Together [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138025
Comments: 43
Kudos: 203





	Can't Miss Him

**Author's Note:**

> I think we can all safely say we've watched the Open Mic scene upwards of 150 times at a minimum so here's how I worked out my feelings. 
> 
> The title is just that little line at the end of Patrick's intro. It breaks my heart in a million pieces every time for some reason. U G H these boys.
> 
> come say hi to me on tumblr! im-televisions-moira-rose.tumblr.com
> 
> I love meeting new people in the fandom so I'd loooove to hear from you.
> 
> oh the corndog anecdote is absolutely a story from my life, also. no shame.
> 
> Oh also we all know what comes next and it’s going to be emotionally brutal so bear with me.

_"Oh, you’re the best.”_

The guitar falls silent and Patrick bites his bottom lip, stepping away from the mic and letting a smile spread across his face. He can feel the tension melting from his shoulders as the adrenaline of essentially baring his soul to his first-ever boyfriend—at 30, through self-arranged song, in front of their entire town, at their joint small business—starts to wear off. 

_There are a lot of eggs in this basket._ Patrick thinks to himself distractedly as he thanks the crowd and slips his guitar up and over his shoulders. When he turns back around to introduce the next performer, he catches a glimpse of David’s fiery sweatshirt and his heart lodges itself furiously in the back of his throat. He’s beginning to see the problem with performing at the beginning of the show instead of the end because even from across the room with way too many people between them, his entire body is humming for David. 

Singing (and music in general) became progressively more private and painful as Patrick got further into his twenties and began to realize that something was decidedly not right. In high school and college, he’d played at coffee shops and bars and actually enjoyed it, but slowly everything in his life became strangely suffocating and heavy and that manifested itself in his music too. He stopped taking the guitar out at get-togethers or picking mindlessly on their balcony in the golden light of early summer evenings, Rachel’s bare feet against his leg. Instead, as his world began collapsing, it stayed in the hall closet, only making an appearance on late nights when Rachel was long asleep or stifling Sunday afternoons when he drank too much and haphazardly serenaded her, desperately trying to make the pieces between them fit. 

Towards the end of his relationship with Rachel, Patrick is pretty sure he developed a bit of a drinking problem. At that point, their lives were so impossibly intertwined that he spent those nights alone with his guitar metaphorically screaming into the void, a perpetually half-finished shot of bourbon always within arm’s reach. There were a few instances when he woke up with zero recollection of the night before and a pit in his stomach about what he might have said to Rachel, what he might have done. He still feels uneasy about those lost hours, those unclaimed memories.

On a hopeful whim, he had skeptically pulled the guitar out of his closet at Ray’s one night a couple weeks ago, leaning back against the pillows on his bed, totally sober. The strings felt a little foreign, a little unfamiliar under his rusty fingertips but he let them wander anyway and as he did, a wave of warmth rolled through his stomach and he thought of David’s face. The guitar became David under his hands and he closed his eyes and imagined olive skin and thick thighs and a perfect mouth. The way David’s hamstring connected to the back of his knee as he lay flat on his stomach on Patrick’s bed. The freckles on his strong, elegant shoulders. The thrum of his hot heart.

David is a song.

A warm hand on the small of his back brings him to the Apothecary again, and he hears David in his right ear before he sees him. Bob is on stage, rattling off an unnecessarily long poem in the background. 

“Um. Hi.” It’s the voice he uses when he’s proven wrong—half apologetic, half still unyielding. Patrick feels himself subconsciously leaning in to David’s orbit, his body humming for contact. He’s blushing, and he turns his head slightly, letting David’s spicy, warm scent wash over him.

“Hi.” He breathes, eyes still on Bob. His skin tingles where David’s hand rests and he reflexively lets out a small, content sigh when David crowds closer to him. He can almost feel a heartbeat pulse against his right shoulder blade.

“David, you’re distracting me.” Patrick whispers, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He’s grinning, but Patrick keeps a straight face and shrugs in a mock attempt to brush David off. “I’m trying to listen to Bob’s poem.” 

“Well. Now we both know you’re lying.” David’s hand runs lightly up and down his back and he savors the friction. Patrick can’t decide if this is somehow more difficult than being across the room from him for the rest of the night. 

The unfamiliar but very welcome pangs of desire in his stomach are cripplingly strong; they reverberate in his knees, take the air out of his lungs. He can feel his breathing becoming uneven and David’s pinky on his back wanders down underneath the waistband of his jeans, underneath his boxer briefs. That gentle but purposeful touch of a fingertip at the base of his spine is more achingly intimate than anything he’d ever shared with Rachel in their bed in fifteen years. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever touched that skin, definitely not intentionally, besides himself. But David’s hand is home there. Grounding him. Reminding him it is okay to sometimes surrender. To let himself want.

Patrick shifts his weight slightly between his feet. Mhm. Yep. Things are getting a little tight below the belt. He coughs and slowly leans back, pushing David off of him gently with his shoulder. David clears his throat in protest, the hand on Patrick sliding down and giving a deliberate squeeze before letting go.

The poem is finally, finally over and the crowd is clapping and Patrick panics slightly because he has to get up in front of basically the entire town again and he can’t stop thinking about where David’s finger just was. He wills the blood in his ears to stop rushing as he crosses back to the stage. 

Squinting a little in the light, he holds the mic stand strategically in front of himself. David immediately catches his gaze from the side of the store where they were standing and he bites his bottom lip and winks, eyes dancing. 

Oh. Patrick is in trouble. He is in so much trouble.

* * *

_Can’t miss him._

That’s what Patrick had said when he dedicated the song to David. It was almost an afterthought, spoken more to himself than to everyone else in the crowd. 

He can’t miss David.

No matter what or where he is, if David is there too, Patrick’s body knows. The constant consciousness of David’s presence lives in the back of his head, in the soles of his feet, the space between his sentences. Sometimes his body is aware before his brain even catches on—the overwhelming sense of anticipation flooding him, tingling in his fingertips, just before David gets to the store in the mornings. The hair on the back of his neck standing on end when David walks into a room. It’s both exhilarating and exhausting to always feel this electric, but he’s just so thankful that he’s _feeling_.

David is the brightest light in most rooms, in Patrick’s biased opinion. He’s never been around someone so magnetic. Sure, it can be intimidating to be eclipsed, but all Patrick wants is to live in David’s shade. He’s more than happy to be the trunk to David’s branches.

The rest of the night goes as expected. Being near David is like staring into the sun—Patrick can’t look directly at him or he catches fire too. He learns this over and over when he gets up on stage and David is right there—the whole fucking universe giving him eyebrows over the microphone as he struggles to string words together in a meaningful way. It’s the most exquisite form of torture, and Patrick loves every second. 

Ray is the last performer of the night. His stand-up actually goes over surprisingly well and people are still chuckling when Patrick makes it back up to the stage to wrap things up.

“Well, that was our last victim and all good things must come to an end. Thanks again to all of you for coming out—David and I are so happy we decided to do this.”

David raises an eyebrow, as if to say ‘You’re absolutely not speaking for both of us.’ Patrick grins, locking eyes with him, and continues.

“I’ll be sure to advertise for next month’s as soon as we pick a date!” The eyebrow somehow inches higher, and it’s Patrick’s turn to wink.

There is a final round of scattered applause before everyone starts to get up and slowly make their way towards the exit. The store is alive with a cheerful buzz of wine-tipsy conversation and it makes Patrick feel warm in a way he hasn’t felt often since moving to Schitt’s Creek. Like he’s home. As he’s collecting empty cups from under chairs and on counters, Ronnie passes by and gives him a pointed look, gesturing vaguely in David’s direction where he’s casually chatting with Twyla, hand on one of the ladders in the front window. 

“You know you’re in for it, right?”

Patrick smiles and gives a small nod.

“Oh, I do.”

“Good luck, Brewer.” 

He blushes and Ronnie claps him on the back with an open hand as she makes her way to the door. 

It’s not clearing out nearly as quickly as he’d like, even though he knows it’s good for business that people want to hang around. He tries to make a bigger, noisier deal of the cup collecting and the stacking of chairs but then feels guilty about it since he is the reason everyone is here in the first place. David definitely notices him making a scene and grins crookedly as he continues his conversation with Twyla, eyes flickering to Patrick every so often. Patrick lets himself stare as he kneels to grab a rogue napkin. 

Like looking at the sun.

* * *

While he waits for the last of the stragglers to leave, he occupies himself by rearranging the stacks of chairs in the back room for easy transport to Town Hall in the morning. As he lifts the last stack, the hair at the nape of his neck stands on end and heat rushes through his body. Seconds later, warm hands are on his hips, holding him from behind, and David’s chest presses against his back. Patrick loves how they fit together that way; it’s easy. In the past, Patrick’s arms did the holding, but with David, he’s learning how to be held.

“So, what else are you hiding from me?” David purrs in his ear. It should be teasing and sexy, but Patrick’s blood runs cold. He can feel himself tense and he’s sure David does too.

_Oh, nothing. Just a 15 year relationship turned engagement that ended with me quite literally running away in the middle of the night._

“It never came up, David.” He says, matter-of-factly, swallowing his fear, consciously trying to relax and turning to face him. “Plus, I only started playing again a few weeks ago.” 

David wrinkles his brow, wearing a small frown.

“Playing _again_? Why’d you stop?” 

“Lock it up, David.” Patrick shakes his head and leans in, slowly sealing their mouths together. _Finally._

They soften into each other for a moment, and Patrick can feel that David is opening. Unfolding. His arms move up to Patrick’s shoulders and the weight comforts him as their bodies press flush. David is a few inches taller than Patrick and Patrick isn’t used to looking up, but, again, he’s learning. He’s learning so much. When they break apart, David’s eyes are warm.

“Tonight was a lovely surprise. I’m exceptionally relieved that I didn’t need my mother to pull the fire alarm.” 

Patrick laughs, hands on the curve of David’s lower back.

“So, that was your entire plan if my serenade embarrassed you?” 

David nods, looking scandalized and shrugging. Patrick wants to kiss him again.

“How was I supposed to know that you’re so musically inclined?” He chirps defensively, a hand coming up, soothing, on the back of Patrick’s neck. “I needed an exit strategy.”

“I understand, David. I just expected something a little more sophisticated than the same technique you used to get out of gym class when you were twelve.”

“Yes, well. You and me both, but I was working with limited time and resources.”

Patrick grins and leans in, nodding as David continues.

“I’m sure you can’t believe it, but that’s not the first time my mother has offered to do something slightly illegal to protect my dignity.”

“This is my surprised face, David.” His expression is stoic and David’s eyes dance. 

Moira has obviously never struck Patrick as the naturally maternal sort, but he does appreciate her _unique_ perspective of parenthood. For the majority of David and Alexis’s years prior to the Roses losing everything, he imagines Moira was generally preoccupied with her own life and career (David talks about Adelina a LOT—like, a suspicious amount), but now that she and her adult children are essentially living on top of each other at the motel, there’s a certain level of intimacy that she has with their lives and she’s adjusted to it in a surprisingly supportive way. He thinks of how he watched her grab David’s upper arm as he sang and his chest tightens. He tries not to imagine his own mother’s face. 

Clint and Marcy Brewer don’t know about David, know nothing about the way their son _biblically_ _knows_ David. Patrick’s life in Schitt’s Creek is a question mark to them and he isn’t ready to change that punctuation yet. Sure, they get vague and random details about the store and have gathered that David is his business partner, but he keeps the conversations intentionally brief when they call; it’s too painful to hear his mom’s voice choked with tears when they say goodbye. 

Patrick is a perfectionist—a planner—and that has made the concept of “the right time” something he’s always struggled with; he waits and waits for the opportune moment, the ideal scenario, but it never arrives. Something is always a little off or not quite right and then it’s too late and whatever he was trying to carefully orchestrate ends up manifesting itself independently and catastrophically. A shining example—when he ended his fifteen year relationship-turned-engagement mid panic attack three days after Rachel’s birthday and drove off in the middle of the night with whatever he could fit in his car. He had wanted to explain to her that he felt like he was slowly drowning for weeks but something always held him back—maybe it was that Rachel had a bad day at work and he didn’t want to make her feel worse. Maybe it was raining and it felt too sad. Maybe he didn’t feel as trapped that day and he thought things were actually going to get better. It wasn’t until he was basically crawling out of his skin that it all bubbled over.

He’s not proud; it’s a cut he can’t stop reopening when he’s alone with his thoughts for too long. And it’s a good reason he’s been avoiding the entire Rachel conversation with David—because it’s his biggest failure in every way and he still can’t wrap his careful head around why it happened the way it did. There have been several moments where he might have taken advantage of their naked and satisfied vulnerability to broach the subject, but at the time it felt disingenuous; he couldn’t even provide the full picture of how he felt—just bits and pieces of what he has managed to grasp so far. He can’t quite bring himself to relinquish control of the narrative until he understands it. 

“Patrick?” 

David’s eyes are dark and comfortable and soft and Patrick retreats there. Back to the safety of being wanted. 

“Um. Hi. Where did you go just now?” A hand plays with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Patrick clears his throat. 

“Sorry. I was just counting the chairs in my head.” 

He hates that he is lying. David smiles at him and shakes his head, rolling his eyes slightly. 

“I’m sure Town Hall can spare a chair or two.”

“Will you fight Roland for me if it comes to blows?”

“Oh, that isn’t even a contest.” David waves dismissively.

Patrick’s hands move to David’s hips and draw him in so they are pressed belly to belly. David’s holding his breath now and Patrick can barely stand it.

“Then I guess it’s time for me to take you home.”

* * *

Patrick takes David back to Ray’s. Obviously, it’s not really “home,” but neither of their respective living situations really lend themselves to domesticity at this point; Ray’s rose wallpaper and ridiculous tchotchkes are as close as it’s going to get. Even though Ray is uncomfortably chatty and intrusive when the sun is up, he’s relatively withdrawn in the evenings which Patrick is thankful for. He’s up early every morning but he prefers to get things that require thinking done late at night and it’s helpful when Ray isn’t interrupting him every half hour. 

It’s also helpful when he wants to see David naked.

In Patrick’s room, David sets his bag down and Patrick toes off his sneakers, leaning his guitar case against the closet door. David flops onto the carefully made bed dramatically and smiles as he pats the spot next to him on the comforter, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Come down here, my little Ray LaMontagne.” He coos, slipping his dunks off and winking. Patrick's stomach flips at the sight. “We just need to get you a flannel or a weird, folk-y vest.”

“David, I would really like to but I’m disgusting.” Patrick says simply, gesturing at his armpits and then down towards the rest of his body. He untucks his shirt. “Turns out serenading your first boyfriend in front of your entire town causes a bit of anxious perspiration. I absolutely need to shower.” 

David hums disappointedly and lays back, stretching out on the bed, his sweatshirt lifting slightly. Patrick gets a peek at his gorgeous, olive stomach and the delicious trail of dark hair below his bellybutton and his knees are weak. He wants his mouth there.

“That is fair. I’ll allow it. Luckily, I’m still feeling fresh since you let me go home early to shower before.” 

David knows what he’s doing, and his hand falls to the exposed skin, fingers stroking absentmindedly. A few fingertips dip below the waistband of his pants and Patrick stands in the doorway for a second watching him, transfixed. As David looks on, he unbuttons his fly.

“Hopefully you’ve thought of a way to thank me for that.”

David’s eyes darken as Patrick slips a hand into the front of his jeans and strokes himself casually over his boxer briefs, still leaning against the door frame.

“I have a lot to thank you for.” David acknowledges, nodding, his eyes wide and hungry. “You take such good care of me, baby.”

Patrick wets his lips slowly as he continues to touch himself. A thrill of arousal rockets through him.

“Are you going to be good for me while I’m gone?”

David eyebrows shoot up but he nods, face flushed and mouth slightly open, looking a little shocked but mostly just gorgeous. A fire rages in his belly—he loves taking David by surprise.

“Good.”

As he turns to leave, David winks and begins to take off his sweatshirt.

This man is the end of him.

* * *

Patrick’s thoughts are loud in the shower again as he slowly and methodically cleans himself. He’s hard so his desire muffles them somewhat but they still break through. 

When David found his commonplace book he was a little embarrassed but he’s sure David can tell there’s something he’s holding back. With his history, Patrick can appreciate the apprehension. He thinks about reading to David and how intimate it felt—knowing that he’d read those words and then written them down because they described exactly how hungry David makes him. How much he wants. It had electrified him to speak that hunger into existence, to make David want too.

He wonders if he should try to tell him about Rachel tonight. Just lay it out and get it over with—rip off the metaphorical bandaid. Maybe he doesn’t actually need all the answers yet—he doesn’t even know what David will ask. Maybe he’s building it up into something bigger than it is.

Nope. A broken engagement is a pretty big deal. It would be to anyone.

He hangs his chin to his chest under the stream and watches the water circle the drain. 

But it was for reasons that David should understand. The last thing he wants is for David to think he didn’t tell him about Rachel because he still has feelings for her.

Which he does.  
He loves her.  
But not the way he loves David. He’s loved no one the way he loves David.  
He loves David. 

Patrick scrubs his hands over his face. He can feel himself falling into the same pattern and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He just wants everyone to be happy, even at his own cost. His entire existence revolves around pleasing other people. Being useful. Compartmentalizing was his life for fifteen years; he can keep a few things in boxes a bit longer. 

He thinks about David waiting in his room.   
David with his dark eyes and full lips and hot mouth.   
David with his brittle, wounded heart. 

God. What is he doing?

He shuts off the shower and steps out, letting the cold air lick at him from underneath the door. As he’s drying off, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror looking worn out and shakes his head.

 _Come on, Brewer. Pull it together._ He thinks as he wraps the damp towel around his waist and pads back down the hall.

* * *

When Patrick walks in the lights are off, but his room is warm and glowing. David clearly helped himself to some of the candle inventory from the store before they left and it makes Patrick’s chest ache with fondness to see them softly twinkling. A gesture. David is already in just his briefs on the bed, beautiful as hell, and Patrick is thankful. He generally loves the act of slowly undressing his boyfriend, but tonight he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to figure out how to take David’s designer pants off. 

“Feel better?” David asks, wiggling slightly on top of the covers. He’s on his stomach, mindlessly scrolling Instagram. Patrick’s eyes drift down to the back of his knee, the curve of his hamstring, the arc of his ass.

“Much.” He nods, letting the towel fall as he crawls onto the bed, placing a kiss on the back of David’s left thigh as he goes. David sighs happily and sets his phone down on the nightstand before turning back to Patrick, leaning up on his elbow, his other hand moving into Patrick’s damp hair. Patrick lies on his stomach too, face against the mattress and turned to the right towards David.

“I love what you’ve done with the place, David.” He grins, pulling him in for a kiss. “But you know these aren’t write-offs, right?”

David cocks an eyebrow, twisting his mouth to the side of his face.

“Mmm. Yes. But couldn’t we technically call this a company event? A corporate retreat, if you will.”

“I’m not sure creating a massive fire hazard with our own product is considered conducting a corporate retreat, David.”

He shakes his head, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he pulls David closer.

“Well I would argue that we will be doing some very important bonding this evening that can only help to further the development of our business.”

“You’re something else.” 

“So I’ve been told.”

They kiss slowly, David smiling against Patrick’s lips and Patrick angles himself, hooking his right leg over David’s calves and bringing their hips together. Patrick could just kiss him forever, and be happy. He is a little bashful about how open, vulnerable his naked body is as he wraps himself around David, but the sensation of their bare chests pressed against each other helps distract him.

Their noses are almost touching when they break apart and David looks a little wary but also extremely wanton. Patrick can’t get enough of David when he’s flushed and breathing heavy like this. He tweaks a nipple, rubbing over it with the pad of his thumb.

“So there’s something that I’d _really_ like to do for you.” David starts. “To properly thank you.” His face is hopeful but guarded as he puts a hand on the side of Patrick’s face gently. “But I need you to be one hundred percent on board.” 

Patrick’s stomach flips. Everything they’ve done together so far has been good. So good. Better than anything he’s ever experienced in his own body and sometimes, in the moment, he worries he could completely lose himself in David. Patrick wants everything David will give him, but he’s also still understanding what it means for him to want. He knows his apprehension makes him look owlish as he blinks back at David’s face, waiting.

“I would _really_ like to eat you out.”

David bites his bottom lip, watching Patrick carefully and Patrick swallows, feeling suddenly parched. His heart slams against his rib cage and his face is hot and probably very red, but the candlelight is forgiving—not that David doesn’t already know he’s blushing. He remembers that night at Stevie’s apartment when he put his mouth against David there and how incredibly intoxicating it was. He wonders if he’s ready for David to see him like that.

In his mind, it’s surrendering. Complete exposure; letting someone know every single inch of you. _He_ ’s never even laid eyes on that part of himself before and he suddenly feels embarrassingly virginal. David is so many firsts for Patrick—he feels like he’s in high school again, all sweaty palms and shy touches. As he nods bashfully, his stomach twists in anticipation and David gives a gentle, reassuring smile, thumb on Patrick’s cheek stroking absentmindedly. 

“Okay, honey. I know you hate this but I’m going to need a verbal confirmation.”

David’s eyes are warm and comforting and then Patrick doesn’t feel so juvenile about being nervous anymore. His chest tightens almost painfully with appreciation for the man looking at him—he wants David to know him like that. He wants David to see what no one else has; he already does in so many other ways, after all. 

“Okay, David.” His voice is low and hoarse with anxious desire and he takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“I want you to eat me out.”

* * *

The room is quiet except for their careful breathing as David spreads out the towel on the bed and then gently coaxes Patrick’s body into a comfortable position on top of it, on his knees, legs spread and face down, a pillow underneath his chest and shoulders. Every nerve in Patrick’s body vibrates with apprehension and anticipation as he lays there, arms folded under the pillow, face turned to the side. He’s painfully aware of how shameless he must look with his ass in the air but he tries not to think about it too hard so he doesn’t lose his nerve. David is between his legs now and Patrick isn’t looking but he can feel him stare, those dark eyes boring into him, raking over his body. Hands are on the back of his thighs and he hears David take a deep, shuddering breath.

“ _Fuck_ , Patrick.” 

Patrick peeks over his right shoulder, angling himself slightly to catch a glimpse of David and their eyes lock. David wets his lips and then pulls the bottom one into his mouth, face wild and hungry. 

“Is it ok if I just look at you for a minute?” 

The hands on his thighs squeeze reassuringly and Patrick nods, watching David’s gaze crawl to his shoulders and then down his back slowly. He still feels exposed but also, somehow, powerful. Patrick isn’t used to being wanted in this way, to being looked at like he is something undeniable, some sort of obscene miracle. Like he is the answer to every question David’s ever asked.

Sure, Rachel was attracted to him. She seemed like she enjoyed his body when they had sex, but it was never raw and eager like this. What happened in their bed (and only their bed) was mostly comfortable, familiar and unremarkable—three positions, eight minutes, lights off. Sometimes Patrick came, sometimes he didn’t and luckily Rachel never took it personally; he knew her body well, knew what she liked and wanted, and that was probably what kept her from thinking about it all too hard. He winces as he remembers the one time he fingered himself while she was trying to blow him and how terribly that went; a misguided, drunken attempt to “spice things up” and one of many failed endeavors to make himself feel some physical connection between them besides the purely mechanical. 

A hot, open mouth where his thigh and his ass meet brings him back to the present and to David’s warm breath on his skin. His hands grab at the sheets under the pillow as a sinfully wet tongue traces down his spine and god he is so fucking hard; he can feel himself leaking. David plants a gentle kiss at the base of Patrick’s tailbone, palms flat on both cheeks, squeezing softly and Patrick’s hole pulses reflexively with anticipation. He sneaks another furtive glance at David and his face is inches away, eyes clouded with hunger, biting his lower lip as he stares.

“You’re so pretty, honey.”

He closes his eyes and clenches again, thighs shaking as he commits David’s dazed murmur to memory so he can replay it on loop the next time he’s alone in this bed. He concentrates on the weight of David against him, the sensation of being completely and dangerously open and vulnerable under David’s hands. And then a tongue is laving lazily between his balls and his hole and Patrick groans against the pillow and he almost begs but he bites his lip instead, brow furrowed. Nothing about this is desperate. His cock twitches indignantly.

A moment later that gorgeous tongue is wide and flat over him, wet and incredibly hot and Patrick can’t believe he’s lived his entire life without this mouth. Without ever feeling this. He looks back over his shoulder again, searching for David’s eyes and they stare as David _spits_ into his hole and bites his lip, giving a grin that drives him wild.

Patrick whimpers and his hips buck reflexively upward, chasing contact and friction but also so overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment. It’s refreshing that David wants to help Patrick explore himself. To seek his own pleasure. He’s turned on by the opportunity to change the narrative between them—to decide how his body manifests itself to David (David’s consent understood). He has never felt this electric before, every cell grasping at memory, wanting to live here forever just like this. Just in case.

David’s tongue is flat against his hole again and Patrick’s whimper becomes a continuous, aching hum as his hips rock against David’s mouth. Swirling against Patrick’s entrance, David dips in and out, gently teasing, and Patrick has suddenly never wanted anything more in his life.

But then he remembers what fucking David feels like.

David’s talented, thirsty tongue circles him wetly as Patrick buries his face in the pillow to exhale a moan. Another long, torturous lick from his balls to his tailbone and he sits back a little, searching. Slowly and firmly, David guides a finger inside, mouth still pressed against him. Patrick’s having a hard time breathing as he rides the sensation of everything all at once. David establishes a relentless rhythm, tongue still teasing around where he plunges into Patrick over and over.

Patrick’s belly is on fire and then suddenly David’s other hand is lubed and on his leaking cock through his legs and it takes Patrick thirteen seconds to come, clenching under David’s mouth and around his finger, hum becoming a recitation of his name.

Looking over his shoulder with red cheeks and hot mouth, still riding out waves of pleasure with shaking thighs, he watches as David strips his own hard cock with one hand, bouncing it softly against Patrick’s ass, and braces himself with the other, his thumb tracing the exposed cleft. This is definitely on the list of Hottest Things That Have Ever Happened to Him, but then David is coming with a low moan and that immediately tops the minute before. Patrick, flushing from eyebrows to asshole, watches with an open mouth, totally enraptured, as David hazily smears his come into his wet, pulsing hole. And then their eyes meet and David lifts his messy thumb to Patrick’s tongue.

_Oh, what the fuck._

Maybe fifteen minutes or a year later, Patrick is spread out, naked and face down on the bed. David has insisted on cleaning him up with the wipes from the bedside table and massaging his thighs a little in case they cramped. Patrick is trying hard to say nothing because of the weight of the love on his chest. Finally, David collapses next to him, pulling the blanket up and over them both. As they relax into each other, David whispers, “Thank you.”

“David, don’t make me talk right now.”

Patrick’s eyes are still closed. David nods and tucks his head into Patrick’s chest again. They breathe for a while in the quiet, flickering light, energy still rocketing between them so fast his head spins. He hums softly to himself, thinking about how he should tell David now. How he needs David to know this is important to him and he’s beyond fucked if he loses it.

He takes a deep breath and realizes with painful tenderness that David is very quietly and very drowsily humming the song he sang earlier. When he played in public before or for friends—or even for Rachel—it never felt like anything more than a performance. But tonight he felt every word, and he’s feeling it again twice as strongly as David echoes it back.

How is he already this far gone?

Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through David’s hair weakly. He really needs a minute.

“David, did you want to brush your teeth or anything?”

Silence. Then, a muffled, “How dare you.”

“Besides, I have like seventeen to twenty moderate fire hazards to extinguish before we both fall asleep accidentally and wind up spending the weekend dead.”

David groans as he shifts lazily on to his other side to pull his joggers from his bag. Patrick takes a minute and then sits up to survey the damage. The towel is now balled up on the floor, dangerously close to one of the candles by the closet door. Yikes.

“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.” He says, switching the bedside lamp on. David gives an apologetic wince and pads away softly. Patrick carefully puts out the little flames scattered about and collects the candles, smiling to himself at the gesture. It really was _some_ corporate retreat.

He could spin it.

* * *

Their teeth are brushed, Patrick’s face is washed and David’s skincare is complete and they are finally able to pour themselves into bed again. Patrick hums with an even, relaxed energy, confident in his satisfaction.

He feels proud of himself and he also feels so incredibly lucky. What would Schitt’s Creek have done for him without the beautiful anomaly of David Rose? He would still be lost, filing weird business licenses and dating the wrong people. He might’ve even gone back to Rachel. Patrick thinks for a second about how ridiculous that all seems now; how hard two people who were so obviously wrong for each other kept trying to force it. How he kept going back because he didn’t know what else to do. How toxic that constant renegotiation to continue to pretend everything was _fine_ became.

 _Every couple goes through this.  
_ _Marriage is good and bad, too.  
_ _We’ve made it through bad times and we can do it again.  
_ _Relationships take work.  
_ _We are both growing right now.  
_ _We’ll figure it out eventually.  
_ _We’re meant to be.  
_ _We always find our way back to each other.  
_ _It’ll happen one day._

That’s not what he wanted. _Oh, maybe one day it will just make sense._

No. He wants _I don’t want to live another minute of my life without you._

And he’s pretty sure he’s found it.

David clears his throat softly, looking up at Patrick, his eyes glowing in the light of the bedside lamp.

“Have you done something like this before?”

Instant guilt. Patrick shifts slightly.

“Um. Nothing like this. I mostly would sing for groups of friends or occasionally play at bars.”

“Wow, so you had, like, gigs?” David’s eyes narrow a little, like they always do when he’s teasing. Patrick shakes his head.

“No, David. I wasn’t trying to break in to the professional music scene or anything. Performing just helps me blow off steam and I’ve always been pretty okay at it.”

“I would agree that you are actually pretty _good_ at it.” David confirms, his head nestled back underneath Patrick’s chin.

“Have you ever had someone sing to you before tonight?” Patrick’s question is only half serious, mostly deflecting. David huffs derisively.

“Unless you count the time my parents paid Sting to sing Happy Birthday to me at my Bar Mitzvah, no—I’ve never really been _muse_ material.”

Patrick buries his face in David’s dark hair, kissing the top of his head softly.

“I’d argue that you are much more than a muse.”

David scoffs again.

“I’m serious.” Patrick angles his head to catch David’s eye and David looks back at him, eyes a little wet. “You make me a better man, David.”

It’s simple but it’s true. David clears his throat but his voice is thick.

“Well, lucky for you, I am a very generous person. So.”

Patrick stretches to kiss him, hand at the small of David’s back.

“You really like helping me, don’t you?” David’s voice is gentle but sure as they pull apart. “Do you know why that turns you on?”

Patrick feels himself getting red. He clears his throat.

“Because I care about you?”

“Mm.” David nods, but then shakes his head. “Partially. But there’s something else. Sex can be for you, too. It’s not just about me, honey.”

Patrick squirms slightly. This is still the hard part. David’s weight grounds him. Keeps his eyes open. Keeps his heart open.

“I think you like helping me because you like giving pleasure. Knowing that you’re the reason I come. Knowing that you’re the reason I make all those…unique noises. And faces, I’m sure. You can control me a little that way. It makes you hard to have control.”

Patrick’s heart leaps and his stomach sinks. He starts to object but David stops him.

“No, honey. No. This isn’t a bad thing.” David pauses for a minute, brow furrowed. “Sex is one of the most amazing ways to learn about yourself. And I want to do that with you. And help you if you’ll let me? We just have to make sure we keep the, um, the line of communication open.” He trails off a little inquisitively.

Patrick closes his mouth again and swallows. All he can do is nod. He’s got some work to do on the opening part. After a second he tries again.

“Um. But I also want to do what you like too.”

David rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, looking back up at Patrick.

“Patrick, we literally _just_ discussed this. _”_

Oh. _Oh._

_oh_

Patrick thinks on that for a moment, using the very fresh memory of David’s mouth wet against him as inspiration.

Would he want to hold David down?

A little chill goes down his spine and then he realizes it has an after burn deep in his belly. He shifts against David experimentally.

Oh. He might.

David’s breathing is becoming slower and more even as he rests against Patrick’s chest.

“Should I turn off the light?” He stretches for the switch as David hums in affirmation. The room is dark except for a scattering of small moonbeams filtering through the heavy curtains. David presses a sleepy kiss against the front of his right shoulder.

“David, what do you think Bob’s poem was about?”

He snorts, hot breath against Patrick’s right nipple.

“Um, I don’t know. Mufflers? Windshield wipers? The meaningless pain of existence?”

“Yeah. I don’t know either. Someone distracted me.” David tweaks his nipple lazily and Patrick immediately answers with a light swat to David’s ass that ends in a grab. He lets his finger brush lightly over David’s hole.

“Excuse me.” David grumbles, but he wiggles slightly against Patrick.

“Sorry. My hands are cold.”

“Mm. I’ll bet.” David pats his chest softly. Patrick smiles and pulls David’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his fingertips. They’re silent again.

“Thank you, Patrick. For tonight.”

Patrick nods, still absentmindedly kissing David’s thumb. He wants to say _I love you_. He doesn’t.

Another kiss. He exhales.

“Tell me something about you David.”

David sighs again. “This is too open-ended.” Another pause and David’s hand moves to his stomach. “Mm. Okay. Once, I dropped a corndog on the floor of the elevator in my building and I still ate it.”

Patrick laughs, chest shaking under David’s head.

“I just need you to be aware of my position on fried foods. And cornbread.” Pause. “ _And_ hotdogs.”

“Noted, David. I’ll try to remember that for our next barbecue.”

“Those are all things that make me happy. Even charred meats.”

“No, David— _especially_ charred meats.” Patrick teases. “I’m actually very good at barbecuing— that’s another of my hidden skills.”

“Well if an opportunity ever presents itself, I’m more than willing to judge you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” Patrick buries his face in David’s hair and smiles. David huffs.

“I feel like I should be offended that my boyfriend thinks I’m judgmental.”

“No, you just know what’s…correct.”

David nods sleepily.

“Precisely.”

* * *

Patrick’s alarm is set for 6:30 but he wakes up at 6:17 and his heart burns as he feels the weight of David on his chest, snuffling softly in his sleep. He wants to wake up like this every morning; even in Ray’s guest bedroom surrounded by hideous wallpaper and dated furniture, he’s never felt more _right._ It’s a busy day on the books and all he really wants to do is continue his performance as David’s pillow but he reluctantly frees himself, sliding out of bed and gently pressing a kiss to his sleeping boyfriend’s temple. David barely stirs, even with the warmth and weight of Patrick gone from beneath him; sleeping is definitely one of his impressive and not-so-hidden skills.

Patrick slowly pulls on his briefs, watching sleeping David from the dresser, his chest rising slow and even in the pale morning light. He’s perfect like this.

He’s perfect every way.

Patrick sneaks out of the room in his sweats and makes his way downstairs, to the kitchen and to coffee. Ray seems to still be waking up, which he’s grateful for as he fills the pot and puts in a new filter. The house is quiet and he takes it in, leaning against the counter as the coffee begins to brew. Everything feels calm and Patrick does too. As the day ramps up, he knows tension and chaos will come back into the picture, but right now he’s able to breathe.

Last night was the realization of several teenage dreams—a few of which Patrick never knew he even had—and he’s still high from it. He wants to keep that feeling alive after he helps himself to the coffee pot, rushing back up the stairs much quicker than before, full mug in hand.

David is still asleep. Patrick figures it takes something pretty monumental for his boyfriend to willingly rouse himself before 7AM, but he’s going to make a valiant effort, he decides, setting down his coffee on the side table and slipping back into bed. David is perfect and warm and relaxed under the covers as Patrick eagerly dives beneath them. He takes a minute to admire a broad chest and freckled shoulders in the filtered light before he makes his way decidedly south, his mouth open and hot against the skin under David’s bellybutton. David stirs.

Coaxing his joggers down gently, he’s delighted to find that David is already half-hard, his gorgeous cock heavy and flushed. He feels a hand suddenly on the back of his head as he presses his mouth against the dark, tidy hair at David’s base, tongue lapping lazily. The fingertips of his left hand lightly brush the inside of David’s thighs and David shudders. His hand on Patrick’s head weaves into his hair and pulls as he takes David in; it’s something new—the sensation of David growing completely hard in his mouth—and it’s driving him crazy. 

David moans as Patrick begins to move, and he can’t get enough. He works David’s shaft with his hand while he bobs his head, wishing he could swallow him completely. One day.

The heady taste of his precum has Patrick humming around his cock with want, the hand not on David in his own boxer briefs, stroking himself desperately.

“ _Fuck_.” David hisses, hips bucking upward, taking Patrick slightly by surprise. He swallows and David’s hips twitch again. “ _Fuck_ , Patrick.”

His name on David’s lips like that echoes in his gut, exploding in a burst of heat. He speeds up his pace slightly, his tongue swirling around the head of David’s perfect cock over and over; his thighs shake and Patrick can tell he’s getting close. Patrick is slightly cramped and a little sweaty under the sheet but it’s so worth it as David grips the back of his neck and comes hard, hot and spurting in Patrick’s mouth. Patrick moans again at the taste of David’s release and he follows, his briefs catching his own. Teenage dream, indeed.

David’s body is still shaking as Patrick lazily cleans him with his mouth and he hisses, the sensation almost too much. A weak hand pats Patrick’s head as he pulls David’s joggers back up and makes his way towards the headboard. When he emerges from underneath the sheets, David is sleepily smiling down at him, hair mussed, crooked grin on his face and Patrick’s heart might explode.

“G’morning.” He mumbles, eyes barely open. Patrick kisses him softly on the mouth as he rolls off and pushes himself out of bed again.

“It’s not even seven yet. Go back to sleep, David.”

“Mmm.” David stretches and groans, flopping onto his side with a content sigh. Patrick’s heart continues to swell and he steals another sleepy kiss.

He’s changed his mind.

 _This_ is how he wants to wake up every morning.


End file.
